Burning Sunsets and Lost Nights
by xdobby13
Summary: Bulma leaves everything, including her boyfriend, behind and heads off to Sands Point, New York. She doesn't know anyone and is completely convinced that her summer before college will be absolutely miserable. No one told her that a certain someone would make it the best three months of her life.
1. Chapter 1

The house is beautiful. It really is. It reminds me of _The Great Gatsby_. The grounds are so lush, and I've already spotted a few trees that I can lose track of time under. But, I still can't shake the feeling that something is missing.

Well, of course something is missing: Yamcha. I left my boyfriend all alone in Japan, and here I am, in Sands Point, about to spend the entire summer away from him. We decided to separate for the time being. I mean, I'm in New York, and he's on the other side of the world. Then, after that, I'm headed off to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology aka MIT. It just wouldn't make sense to stay together, what with the physical and emotional distance.

I miss him, though. I hate to admit it, but I'm worried he'll move on first. Maybe not fall in love first, but there are certainly other ways one can move on. Ways that I am not necessarily a fan of, but I know Yamcha is.

I grumble as I trudge up the stairs, my suitcase clunking with each step I take. My dad decided to take a few months off from Capsule Corporation, leaving it in the hands of the Board of Directors. This was a first for him, so he dragged my mother and I with him for some "much needed" family bonding. And, here we are. I don't even know where they are right now. I think I heard something about the beach before the door slammed.

This place is completely foreign to me. I don't know anyone here. I'm worried that I'm going to spend the whole summer with my parents and my parents alone. I'm sure _they_ don't even want that! I'm sure "family bonding" also meant "husband and wife reconnecting," but let's not go there.

Finally, I reach the entrance to what I decide will be my room for the entirety of June, July, and August. It's pristine. The color scheme is really just fresh white and pale blue, two of my favorite colors—even though white isn't _really _a color.

I collapse on the fluffy, king sized bed and grab my iPhone from the adjacent nightstand. Two messages from Yamcha. My heart flutters even though I know we are not and cannot be together.

**YAMCHA: Hey, B! Hope you're loving Sands Point. We miss you over here! Don't be a stranger xx **

I grin like a madman at his message and quickly type a reply—**BULMA: I miss you too! So far, SP sucks...don't even know anyone here! Maybe I will catch a flight back to South City, huh? xx**

**YAMCHA: You should. Will be waiting at the airport with flowers for you, my love. **

I stuff my face into a pillow to stifle my scream, mixed with both joy and sorrow. I love him—I really do, but I can't have him because of this stupid vacation. So, there's no use wallowing in depression, right? Summer is about second chances and love and fooling around. I should be doing that, not laying in my bed and missing Yamcha.

I gather my confidence and step out of my bedroom and walk all the way out of the house, or should I say, mansion. The grounds are so immense, it takes me a good five minutes to make my way off our property. Sands Point is not exactly a big city. In fact, it's really just a cute, small town full of rich, snobby people. I doubt I'll find a single person here who doesn't work on Wall Street and is below the age of 45.

I plug in my headphones and tune out the sound of silence with The Beatles, "I've Just Seen a Face." Hopefully it'll get me in a good mood. Maybe some good old, traditional, American ice cream will get me out of this funk. I proceed to the town square where, according to my intense Google searching, there are a few tasteful ice cream parlors.

Finally, I am waiting on line with delicious anticipation for my homemade, mint chocolate chip scoop. I am humming Pink Floyd, and everything is starting to look up. Someone taps on my shoulder.

"Hey," a girl with ice-cold blue eyes says. "Pink Floyd?"

I nod, yanking my headphones out of my ears. "Yeah, you a fan?"

"Duh," she replies with a smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, my name's Eighteen."

"Eighteen? Huh, that's weird," I comment, a bit too forwardly, but she just laughs. "I mean, I like it, it's just different…" I try to save myself awkwardly. Way to go, Bulma, insult the first girl you meet in this godforsaken place.

"Don't worry about it. Believe me, if you think my name's weird, just wait till you meet my mother."

"Oh, I'm meeting your mother?" I challenge.

"Of course, but after the wedding, babe. I don't want to scare you off!" She quips, and I burst out into giggles. I like Eighteen. She's cool. That's the perfect way to describe her: cool.

"Excuse me, miss?" The cashier says, interrupting my conversation with Eighteen. I turn around and inform her of my order.

"So, what's your name? I'm marrying you, so I need to know what to put on the invitations," Eighteen asks after she's given the cashier her order, as well. She drapes her arm around my thin shoulders, and all I can think about is how _no one _is this brazen in South City.

I smile up at her as I'm handed my mint chocolate chip cup. "I'm Bulma Brief. You want to take a walk with me? I don't know anyone here."

She grabs her chocolate cone and follows me out of the parlor. "Of course, my future wife—can't just have you walking around by yourself in scary Sands Point!" She jokes. "I'm kidding. This place is so safe, it gets annoying."

"I know what you mean," I respond, shaking my head fervently. We walk down a pathway, and I look around, surveying all the shops and restaurants Sands Point has to offer. It really is quite quaint but in an extremely lavish way. There's a teeny macaron shop on the corner, and I'm instantly dead set on grabbing a few orange blossoms for the walk home.

"So, who are you, babe? Who's the real Bulma Brief?" She asks me as we pass an Italian restaurant. I make note of its name—you never know when you're going to be in desperate need of black truffle pasta.

I tap my chin in a mockingly thoughtful manner. "Well, I'm eighteen years old...I live in South City, but I'm vacationing here for the summer with my family. I'm heading up to MIT in late August for the start of the term—"

"_MIT_?" Eighteen exclaims. "Wow, what are you, some kind of genius? Also, I'm going to Tufts!"

"Wait, really? They're like...fifteen minutes away from each other. Oh, thank god, I actually know someone. I was _so_ nervous," I say, completely relieved. "And, yeah. I am a genius. 170 IQ, babe."

"You're humble, too," she notes, playfully pushing me as I stick my tongue out at her. "But, go on, Bulma."

"You can call me 'B.' But, as I was saying, I'm heading up to MIT soon. I recently broke up with my boyfriend, Yamcha. I miss him…" I confess, looking down at my shoe as my longing for him overcomes me.

Eighteen takes my hand in hers and squeezes it. "I'm sorry, B. How long were you guys together?"

"About a year."

"Oh god, that really fucking sucks," she agrees, our hands swinging together. "How about I take you to a party tonight to get your mind off of him? I can introduce you to my super hot guyfriends," she suggests, her eyebrows waggling in suggestion.

"Eighteen! We literally just broke up. I can't just go hook up with some other guy. That's not really my style, anyway. I mean, unless they're _really _hot, of course."

"Shut up, Bulma, that's everyone's style. And, I promise they're really hot. The only one who's taken is Vegeta, but I bet he'd piss you off anyway," she tells me as we turn a corner.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I feel like you guys are too similar. I bet you'd have really hot hate sex, though," she says. I punch her in the shoulder and feel an instant wave of guilt towards Yamcha. But, also, an instant wave of excitement that I choose to ignore for now.

"Oh, really?" I say smugly. "Well, you can tell this Vegeta that there will be no 'hot hate sex' between us."

"You can tell him yourself," she replies, gesturing to a boy with spiky, black hair who is smirking at the two of us.

"No hate sex, huh?" He dares. "I'm wounded."

* * *

><p>AN: Hey, guys! Don't worry, I'm still working on _Her Brave Spirit_, but I'm starting this story too! I hope you like it! Also, if you want me to write a chapter two, you gotta leave a review! If I get like 10 reviews, I'll post a new chapter.

Thanks!

Aisha xx


	2. Really Fking Hot

Eighteen is laying casually on my new bed, using her phone to blast "Comfortably Numb." I'm frantically de-capsulating all my clothing in an attempt to find a suitable outfit for the party. When she had first mentioned it to me, I thought it was just a regular party complete with beer pong and irritating fraternity boys. Sure, _my family _had loads of classy parties back in South City, but my friends were never that affluent. I'm used to casual party attire. But apparently, the whole lot of Sands Point is rolling in money, so Eighteen told me to "dress to impress."

"What is this party even for?" I growl from the depths of my closet, throwing a coal black dress over my shoulder carelessly.

"It's my friend Goku's birthday," she calls back from the other room nonchalantly.

I drop the pantsuit I'm currently cradling and race back into my bedroom. "Are you serious? I can't just crash someone's birthday party! I thought this was just like...a house party or something."

"Unfortunately, we don't do house parties here. More like mansion parties." She winks. "But you can totally come, B! The guys will love you. I mean, you're totally hot, smart, _and_ charismatic."

"Thanks, wife," I smile as I head back into my closet. "So, are we talking evening gown or cocktail dress or…?"

"Well, I'm wearing a Collette Dinnigan slipdress…"

"Hmmm...You know what? I'm going to wear this dress I love from Contrarian," I say, grabbing it from Capsule No. 13 and meandering out of my closet. I hand it to Eighteen, and her eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. The dress is simple and backless, in a playful lavender shade. The cleavage is ample, and the neckline will accentuate my collarbone. It comes together at the waist and then puffs out all flirtily. I think I'm going to pair it with my white, Macarena wedges from Christian Louboutin.

…What? Sue me—I'm girly and proud.

"This is going to look so good on you, Bulma," Eighteen compliments. "Chi-Chi is going to be so jealous when Goku falls in love at the sight of you."

"Who's Chi-Chi?"

"Uh, this girl who hangs around with us...She's, like, our family friend and always tags along whenever we do shit. She's desperately in love with Goku—the birthday boy," she explains as I switch the song to "Shake It Off."

I smirk at Eighteen. "Something tells me you don't like her," I tease.

She growls. "I can't help it. She's just not into any of the things I am. And, it's not just me. The guys don't really like her either!"

I take a seat next to her on my bed.

"Wow, poor Chi-Chi. All her friends hate her!" I say, laughing. "Well, it must be tough for her to be in a friend group where the only other girl is you. That must fuck with her self-confidence"

"Why?"

"I mean...You're gorgeous, Eighteen. Let's be real. You're intimidating," I elucidate. She gives me a small smile. And then, there's this silence. A silence that I've never really had with a girl before. A silence that makes my heart flutter. I bite my lip expectantly, though what I am expecting, I have no idea.

"That means a lot coming from you," she murmurs, turning a bit, so she faces me. I lean forward, and my mind goes blank. I feel her plump lips on mine, and exhilaration pumps through my veins. Our kiss is overflowing with this exciting, new passion that I've never encountered before.

She wraps her arm around my waist and pulls me closer. I nibble on her bottom lip, and I feel her smile against my lips. I grant her tongue entrance into my mouth, and it slides in precariously. We battle it out for dominance, and I suppress a giggle. Heat is pulsating around us—I can't really remember what we were just talking about. I scoot a bit closer to her and cup her chiseled face, raining kisses down her jaw line.

A soft moan escapes her, and I inwardly shudder with delight. My palms are sweaty. I'm so anxious; this is so unlike anything I've ever done. I feed hungrily on her, sucking and kissing her neck, gently pushing her down, so she is lying under me on the bed. I look down on her for a moment and blush. Her eyes are glinting with desire. I'm sure mine reflect the same feeling. This is so different, so new. But, it feels so right.

She pulls me down, and I accept gratefully, regretting the distance I created between us. My lips are on hers again, and my hands, which have acquired a mind of their own, start peeling the strap of her black tanktop off. I place a gentle kiss on her shoulder, and before I know what's happening, Eighteen flips me over on the bed. She winks down at me, and I feel like I might explode.

She tentatively curls the edge of my t-shirt, silently asking for permission. I lift up my arms, and she happily frees me of the intrusive fabric. She peers down at my blue bra, and I'm embarrassed. I mean, it's not exactly a first-time-experience-with-a-pretty-girl bra. I wore it on the plane! All my thoughts are left behind, however, when she leans down to press a tantalizing kiss on my breastbone.

My fingers find their way into her cropped, blonde hair, and I realize that I am quietly urging her to go on. I want this. I want her. Her hands weave their way to my back and locate the clasp of my ugly bra. She unhooks it. I gasp, vulnerability clouding my eyes. Am I ready for this? I just met her! I am panting, but when Eighteen returns to my eye-level to place a gentle kiss on my cheek, my apprehension dissipates.

She slowly slides the bra off, leaving my breasts in open in plain sight. My pink nipples are erect. I think I see a faint blush coating her cheeks, and I snicker to myself. My laughter is not for long, however, for she closes the distance between us again, this time encircling the peak of my breast with her mouth. I moan at her touch, writhing under her as she bites and sucks on me. I feel fire. I literally feel like someone set me on fire.

The fire extinguishes, just as quickly as it was ignited. Eighteen rolls off of me, and I reluctantly reach over to grab my phone—the incessant cockblock. Or should I say, pussyblock? I chuckle at my private joke as I survey my screen, wondering who dared to disturb my moment with Eighteen.

My eyes fall on the name, and my heart clenches: Yamcha. We had just broken up maybe two days ago, and here I am in bed with someone else. I was just complaining about how I thought he would move on first! I furrow my brows with guilt as I accept the call. "Hey," I greet him weakly. Eighteen gives me a look. She's probably confused as to why I look like someone just died.

"Bulma! God, I missed your voice so much. How are you? How's your day going? I know we texted earlier, but you stopped responding. I got worried. Did you make any friends yet?" He asks all at once. I can clearly picture the wide grin that must be spreading across his face, and I realize I do miss him. And that I'm not over him. I glance at Eighteen who is preoccupied by her phone.

"I missed you, Yam! And Sands Point is actually great...I did make a friend-"

"Oh, wow. That's great, B! Fuck. It just kicked in, you know. How much I miss you…" He admits, his voice lowering slightly.

I sigh, silently wondering if Eighteen would be annoyed if I give into his affection. "Yeah...I can't believe I just left South City. I feel like I haven't seen you in a million years. But enough of this sad talk! How's everything back home? Please give everyone a kiss from me!"

"I will. There's a party tonight, and I wish you were here so I could have a hot date."

"There's a party here tonight too! I'm going with my new friend. Her name is Eighteen," I reply.

"Eighteen? That's weird. Is she 18 years old?" He jokes.

"Yeah!" I laugh. "Her brother's name is Seventeen, but he's 18 like her. They're twins. I haven't met him yet, though."

"Oh, cool," he says.

"Yeah…um, listen, Yam. I've gotta go because it's almost seven here, and the party starts at eight. I still need to get dressed and everything…"

"Oh, okay, B," he responds dejectedly. I feel bad. I want to talk to him. But I literally just made out with the girl who's still sitting in the room with me, currently listening to my conversation with my ex-boyfriend. Everything is just too weird right now. "Can we Skype soon?"

I smile. "Of course. Text me when you want to—make sure you line up the time difference, though."

"Yeah, totally. Love you, Bulma," he says.

"Love you too!" I reply and then hang up.

Eighteen looks up at me, and I instantly blush. "Who was that?" She asks.

"My ex-boyfriend, Yamcha," I explain. I realize I'm not wearing a shirt and look down at my chest, wondering what I should do. I can't just keep sitting here shirtless if we're not going to do anything. I mean, I don't think I want to do anything right now. _Right now_.

"Oh, cool," she says. "Hey, that was fun," she comments, and I burst out laughing. Leave it to Eighteen to easily diffuse a potentially uncomfortable situation.

"Yeah, it was." I snicker at the look she gives me. "That was my first time hooking up with a girl, you know? You're _special_, Eighteen."

Her mouth opens slightly at my confession. "Your first time? Wow, you're so cute, Bulma. You're gonna be so corrupted by the time the summer's over...I'm so glad I found you in that ice cream shop."

"How many times have you?"

"Um, I don't remember. I just don't care, you know? I'm attracted to hot people, not just hot _guys _or hot _girls_. Why should I miss out on half the world's attractive people?"

I nod. "That's a great attitude."

"So, are you just gonna sit there naked all day, or are you going to get dressed? We have a party to get to, Bulma Brief!" She pushes me back into my closet, and I grab the lavender Contrarian dress on my way.

"Fuck!" She calls after me. "I don't think I have enough time to stop at my house before the party. Can I borrow something of yours?"

"Yeah, definitely!" I shout back. "Give me a minute. I'll bring out a few choices. What size are you?"

"A zero!"

"Okay, cool. Me too."

I pull my jeans off, as well as the comfy granny panties I always wear when I'm on the plane. Thank god things with Eighteen didn't get too heated, or she'd take one look at my underwear and immediately run out the door. I step into a black, lacy thong and haul the dress over my head, deciding to go braless because it has no back.

I open Capsule No. 37, which houses my cocktail attire, and tear through the pile of clothes that pops out, searching for something Eighteen can wear. I settle on a gold sequined, Burberry kneelength dress and a Misha Collection black jumpsuit. I also grab a pair of matte black Prada pumps that'll go with both of Eighteen's options and bustle out of the closet.

The moment her eyes lay on the jumpsuit, her face breaks into a smile. "That's _gorgeous_. Oh my god, where did you get it?"

I tap my chin thoughtfully. "My mom bought it for me in Paris during Fashion Week. It's one of my favorites, but it'd totally suit your figure. You've got those Cara Delevingne legs that go on for days."

"Wow, you just compared me to the love of my life. I swear I'd give up everything for that woman."

I laugh as I spread an ivory concealer over my skin. "She's your girl crush? Celebrity, I mean."

"Probably. Yours?"

I swirl my Dior mascara along my lashes, careful not to create any irksome lumps. "Hmmm...That's tough. But if I had to choose, of course J-Law."

Through my vanity's mirror, I see Eighteen scrunch her nose. "Jennifer Lawrence? Ugh, that's so cliché."

"Yeah, it's cliché for a reason. Everyone loves her because she's hysterical and perfect looking, Eighteen," I argue. I grab a plum lip stain from my counter and use it to shade in my lips. I purse them at my reflection, debating whether I need any more makeup. I grab a liquid liner and meticulously outline my cerulean orbs with a cat-eye look. Done.

When I turn around, Eighteen is already in the jumpsuit. She really rocks it. Fuck—I think she looks better in it than I do. Scratch that, she definitely does.

"How should I do my hair?" She asks, interrupting my stare.

I begin to run a brush through my blue locks as I consider what would look best with that platinum blonde bob. "You could slick it back. That'd look awesome with the jumpsuit. Very chic. Very Kendall Jenner."

"Fuck yes!" She agrees, nodding her head vigorously. I grab a bottle of hair gel from my vanity table, as well as a brush, and toss them to her. "What about mine?"

"I'll fishtail it, babe. Let me just finish doing my hair," she says.

* * *

><p>I'm tugging on my fishtail nervously. We pull up at this vast estate. The façade is decorated with twinkling lights, and a plush, violet carpet leads the way to a grand, double-door entrance. The walk is lined with various flora and fauna. I step out of Eighteen's car, my anxiety really building up at this point.<p>

She rings the doorbell, and I rock back and forth on my wedges, wondering why the fuck I agreed to attend a party where I know absolutely zero people, minus the girl standing next to me. Before I can come up with an excuse to abandon this party, the door swings open to reveal a smiling, spiky haired, teenage boy. Frankly, he looks a bit like that asshole Vegeta I met earlier. Just a bit taller. And softer.

"Eighteen!" He exclaims, hauling her in for a bone-crushing hug.

She throws her arms around his neck, after handing me what I assume is Goku's gift bag. "Goku babe! Happy birthday! How does it feel to be an _adult_?"

"No different!" He replies and then releases her. Then, he looks at me. His ebony eyes peer at me, and for the second time in the span of thirty seconds, I feel the urge to run away.

"So, you must be Bulma," he says, taking a step closer to me.

I nod my head. "Yeah, and you're Goku. It's great to meet you. Oh, and happy birthday, man!" I say, extending my hand for him to shake, but he rolls his eyes and pulls me in for a tight embrace. I laugh once I'm in his arms and decide that I like Goku. He reminds me of Yamcha with his carefree mannerisms.

"Thank you!" He replies and lets me go. "So, Eighteen," he continues, averting his eyes back to my blonde friend, "thank the fucking lord you're here. My mom's invited the entire snooze crew of Sands Point, so me and guys are in the back, planning on getting pissed. Did you bring the weed?"

"Yeah, babe, the best quality—only for you!"

Shit, weed. I've never smoked weed in all my life. I'm not necessarily opposed to it; we just don't do that back home, in South City. But I do smoke cigarettes on occasion. I sneak them from my dad when I'm feeling particularly stressed.

Eighteen pulls me into the house after Goku. "The corruption begins tonight, Bulma," she whispers in my ear.

We weave our way through the crowd and through a passageway that leads to a quaint, private garden. A hedge surrounds the lush, green space, and it, like Goku's house, is decorated with twinkling lights. I see a table laden with numerous bottles of wine and beer. Finally, my gaze falls on a group of four people, gathered around a firepit, involved in a deep conversation.

"Hey, guys!" Goku says, once we enter the garden. "This is Bulma," he says, pointing to me. "She's super cool, so you better all be nice to her."

I blush at Goku's words and grin at all the people I am being introduced to. I receive a cohesive wave from everyone except, of course, Vegeta.

"You still wounded?" I quip when I feel his stare on me.

"Nah," he admits. "I realized you're pretty hideous."

A boy with cropped, light brown hair elbows Vegeta. "Hey, shut the fuck up, Vegeta! She's obviously gorgeous." He looks up at me and extends his hand. "Ignore him. Anyway, I'm Seventeen. Apparently you've spent the whole day with my sister?"

"Yeah, I did. She wasn't the worst company in the world," I remark as I shake his hand.

Seventeen scoots over and pats the spot next to him—in between him and Vegeta. I inwardly roll my eyes but plop down on the offered seat, attempting not to think about how fucking hot Vegeta looks in his tuxedo, even if he is a dick.

"Have you met everyone, Bulma?" Seventeen asks, taking a gulp of his Blue Moon.

"No, not yet," I say, looking at the two people I still don't know: a girl with long, caramel colored hair and piercing, blue eyes along with a bald headed boy.

"Okay, that's Kimberly," he points to the blue eyed girl, and I smile at her.

"Hey, I'm Bulma," I say, reaching over to shake her hand. She just looks at me pointedly and rolls her eyes. "Uh, is something wrong?"

"No," she essentially spits and gets up from her seat, heading toward the passage Goku, Eighteen, and I just entered from. I glance around at everyone, looking for an explanation, but everyone appears to be fixated by Kimberly's exit.

The caramel haired girl whips around and gives us all a death stare—possibly because she heard Eighteen snicker. "What is so fucking funny, Eighteen?" She hisses, and I suddenly feel very awkward in such a dramatic situation with people I don't even know.

"How fucking sensitive you are, Kimberly," Eighteen taunts.

"Vegeta, are you really going to let her talk to me that way?" She says to the flame haired boy on my right. Oh, so this must have been what Eighteen meant by Vegeta being taken. "Oh, no, I forgot. You're too busy fucking this Bulma girl, right?"

"_What_?" I screech.

Vegeta drops his glass of champagne, and it shatters. He glares at her. "You are fucking crazy. I say two words to her, and you assume I'm cheating?"

"You were flirting with her-"

"He _literally _just called me hideous. If that's flirting to you, I don't know what to tell you," I interject, folding my arms across my chest.

"Oh, don't you dare talk to me, you whore!"

"What did you just call her?" Eighteen shouts, losing her cool for the first time since I've met her—which was really only this morning.

The bald headed guy whom I don't know yet stands up and shouts, "You guys need to _calm down_! This is Goku's birthday party. We're supposed to be happy right now! It's our last fucking summer together before college. Is this really necessary right now, Kimberly?" He says to my new archenemy. "By the way, I'm Krillin," he says to me. I smile up at him, deciding I like Krillin too. I like all of them, save Kimberly. And maybe Vegeta, but the jury's still out on that one. Sure, he's an ass, but he's an ass in a thrilling, almost comforting way.

"Thank you, Krillin," Goku says softly, taking a delicate sip of his Corona.

Vegeta gets up from his seat and leaves us all staring uncomfortably at one another. Kimberly goes after him almost immediately, yelling something that sounds like, "Wait, Veggie! I'm sorry! I know you wouldn't cheat on me! Hold on!" But I endeavor to tune out her shrill voice.

Seventeen clears his throat and wraps an arm around my shoulder. "Yeah, so, we're a bit dramatic. But we're fun! Will you be friends with us?"

I laugh and nod my head yes. There is a chorus of cheers among the group, and I feel great. It's only my first day in this place, and I'm already dreading leaving it in a few months. Goku hands me a glass of Dom and winks at me.

About forty-five minutes passes before I realize haven't informed my parents of my whereabouts. I excuse myself to give them a call and head through the passageway. I walk past a discreet stairwell and barely notice Vegeta lodged up in there, taking long draws of a bottle of wine. He looks so alone that I can't help but feel bad for him.

"Vegeta?" I say; my tone is slightly slurred from the immense amount of champagne.

He looks up at me, and his eyes narrow. "What?"

"Are you okay?" I ask, moving closer to him and taking a seat against the bottom step, instantly forgetting about the phone call to my parents.

"She's a bitch."

"I figured that out for myself, thanks," I joke, wondering if I would be this candid had I not ingested three glasses of the stars.

"You didn't back down," he comments.

"No. Why would I? Those fake highlights don't scare me!" I inform him, laughing at my own joke. "Uh, no offense," I continue, softening my blow.

"I don't really care. She's just a good fuck."

"Why not just fuck her then?"

"What?"

"Why are you dating her if you don't like her?"

"I don't know. This town isn't big on one-night stands. I wanna go back to the city."

"You live in Manhattan?"

"Yeah, obviously. We all do. You don't think I live here all year round, right?"

"Well, now I don't," I surrender, subconsciously leaning my head against his knee.

"Are you wasted?" He asks, curling one of my locks around his finger. If I were sober, I'd probably find this weird. But right now, there's a strange sense of ease between us. Like he's the only one I should be sitting with right now on this gorgeous summer night.

"No, not wasted. But I am enjoying myself," I admit. "You're not that bad Vegeta. I was wrong."

"About what, woman?"

I laugh. "Woman. I like that."

"About _what_?" He presses, impatience mingling with his tone.

"You're not a really fucking hot asshole," I confess, closing my eyes as he continues to play with my hair.

"So, what am I?" I can almost _hear _the smirk in his voice.

"You're just really fucking hot," I tell him.

"Maybe I wasn't being completely honest when I called you hideous, woman," he says after a few moments of silence. "But don't tell Kimberly that."

I look up at him and smile lazily. "Your secret's safe with me."

* * *

><p>AN: I hope you guys liked it! So, I know I didn't get 10 reviews, but I hope I do for this chapter. If you are reading this story, just leave a review like "Hi, I'm reading this" so I know how many people actually care about it, you know?

See you next update. Also, if you haven't, check out my other story: _Her Brave Spirit_!

I won't update if I don't get like...seven reviews, how's that? Thanks, guys! xx


	3. Mad and Madly in Love

I think I have a crush on Vegeta. What's wrong with me? A week ago, I was dating Yamcha. Then, I hooked up with Eighteen. And then, Vegeta and I spend a whole night together talking about everything and nothing. And now, I can't stop thinking about him.

I feel so stupid. I mean, he has a girlfriend. Sure, she's a bitch, but he's _hers_. I cannot, will not make a move on someone else's man. That's just against my code, ever since someone did that to me in high school.

I'm watching them right now. We're all hanging out on the beach with a bottle of wine and a few sandwiches. It's a beautiful day, and the ocean water has made my hair all wavy and relaxed. I'm wearing one of my favorite, simple black bikinis. But I can't stop glaring at Kimberly and Vegeta. She's laying against his chest, taking delicate sips of her red wine. He's staring at something on his phone, clearly not that interested in her. But he's still _sitting _there.

Oh god, what is wrong with me? I'm not the kind of girl who just obsesses over some guy she's just met. I'm the kind of girl—if you don't mind me saying—who people obsess over! I never realized how terrible it is to want someone you can't have. I'm not used to it! I'm Bulma. I get what I want. I'm a fucking genius, my dad's a billionaire, I'm beautiful, and Vegeta is not my boyfriend. So, I've gotta get over it, don't I? There are thousands of other guys in this town, three others sitting with me right now: Goku, Krillin, and Seventeen.

"Hey, guys," I say, gaining the attention of my new friends. "What are you doing tonight?"

Goku shrugs. He's never one for organization, I've noticed.

Eighteen speaks up, "Maybe we could take the limo to the city? It's Saturday, we could grab some dinner and then go out."

"So down. Where do you wanna go?" Krillin asks.

I feel a wave of uncertainty wash over me. I mean, I'm not a party _party _girl. I like those intimate gatherings, kind of like Goku's birthday, where you can really get to know the person sitting next to you. I don't like screaming in people's ears or being hit on by random men who centralize their happiness on going out to those clubs.

Somehow, Vegeta notices my subtle hesitance. "What's wrong, Bulma? Never been to a club before?" He smirks at me as though I'm some incompetent baby. Wow, what did I ever see in this guy? I may be a genius, but sometimes, I really don't think things through.

"_No_, you asshole. Of course I have!" I retort, even though it's a lie. I've never been a club before. I've never needed to go to a club! I've basically only had steady boyfriends since I was 14. Clubs are places where single people go to go to meet other single people and hook up. I was never into that.

He winks at me. "Sure you have."

Kimberly whacks him. "Oh, would you just stop flirting with her? Who even _is _she?"

I just roll my eyes. I've grown used to Kimberly's tactless comments. "That doesn't mean much coming from the girl with fake tits," I growl.

"They are not fake, oh my god! Are you going to let her talk to me that way?" She yells in Vegeta's face. He cringes at her unnecessary volume.

"Well, she's not wrong…"

I burst out laughing and pretty soon, so does everyone else.

"Okay so, where do you wanna go tonight?" Krillin presses. I don't know much about New York City beyond _Gossip Girl_, _Sex and the City_, and _Home Alone 2_, so I don't have anything to respond with.

"How about Scarpet and then the Boom Boom Room? Or Marquee?" Seventeen offers.

"What's Scarpet?" I ask.

"Scarpetta," Vegeta responds monotonously. "Really, _really _good spaghetti and tomato sauce."

I snort. "Okay, spaghetti and tomato sauce is just like regular food. It can never be really, _really _good."

"Maybe not in fucking South City. We're about to show you the greatest city in the world. Why don't you save your judgments till you try it?"

"You just love pissing me off, don't you?"

"It's only because you're so easily angered, woman," he quips and then places a searing kiss on Kimberly's shoulder, all while maintaining eye contact with me. And I swear to god, for a moment, I think he's doing it to make me jealous. But why would he?

"Oh, damn!" Kimberly exclaims. "My best friend from Italy is coming in tonight, and I promised I'd hang out with her."

We all look at her expectantly, wondering why we should care. I've deduced that these guys absolutely hate her. I feel like Vegeta does too but chooses to deal with her because according to him, "She's a good fuck."

"Well, I can't come out with you tonight…" she explains sadly.

"Oh, wow...that's so sad," Eighteen says in the most insincere tone possible.

Kimberly glares at her. "Shut the fuck up, Eighteen. We all know you're jealous of me because I have Vegeta, and you don't."

"You got me, Kimberly. That's exactly why I don't like you."

Kimberly stares at her smugly, and all the while, I'm wondering why anyone would ever tolerate such a disgusting human being. Her shrill voice brings me back from my pondering before I can go far, though.

"Veggie, will you stay with me? Alana loves you!"

Vegeta shakes his head. "Well, I don't love her, so no. And someone's gotta keep an eye on the newbie."

"_Bulma_?" She screeches, seemingly forgetting that I'm sitting right here. "You'd choose her over me?"

"Well, I don't intend on hanging around for quality time with you and that basic Alana!"

"I promise I'll keep an eye on him for you, Kimberly," I say kindly, leaning over and placing my hand on Vegeta's arm. Out of the corner on my eye, I see his onyx orbs glinting with amusement. God, he is such a player. God, why do I love players so much? "I'll only let him bang the _really _hot girls, I swear."

"You're such a bitch," she snaps.

"I know," I counter. "But you're a bitch, and you deny it. Who's better?" I ask Vegeta.

"Time has yet to tell," he replies ambiguously.

Goku breaks our banter with an uncalled-for "Wow, you guys are perfect for each other!"

I smack my forehead. "I was _joking_, Goku. If Vegeta and I got together, I'm pretty sure the world would implode."

"Bulma, please. You obviously want me. If Kimberly weren't here, you would so pull a move. Unfortunately for you, I'm a faithful boyfriend, and you're too ugly."

"Oh, Veggie, I love you so much," Kimberly murmurs, twisting around to place a sloppy kiss on the flame-haired boy's lips.

I hate him. I _hate _him. "Excuse me," I say bluntly, making sure to kick some sand in Vegeta's and Kimberly's faces as I pass them.

I press Yamcha's name on my iPhone's contact list and wait patiently for him to pick up. "Hey, Yam," I say brightly when he picks up.

"Bulma! I haven't heard from you in a few days. How are you?"

I sigh and dig a toe into the damp sand. "I'm fine. This guy's just getting on my nerves. I miss you."

"Who is he? Want me to come over there and beat him up?"

I chuckle. "Nah, I can handle him."

"Same, Bulma," Yamcha jokes. "You don't need anyone."

"No, I don't," I tease. "But I _do _miss you."

"I miss you too, love. Who is this guy?"

"His name is Vegeta. He just likes bothering me; it's not that terrible."

"Aw, he probably just has a thing for you, B. Can you blame him?"

"Um, no, that's definitely not the case. He has a girlfriend," I explain. "Anyway, he's really not that bad. He's just being an ass right now because he likes to pick on me when he's with his girlfriend! It bothers both of us. Maybe I can get back at him tonight…"

"What's tonight?" Yamcha asks.

"We're all going to the city," I tell him, dipping my toes into the cool water. I shudder slightly at the temperature of the ocean but wade a bit further.

I spin around when I hear a hoarse voice murmur behind me. "I didn't know I could scare you off. I guess I should be more careful, huh?" Vegeta challenges me.

"Um, Yam, I've gotta go. Talk soon, okay?" I say quickly before hanging up. "What do you want, Vegeta? The ol' ball and chain is gone?" I say, gesturing to the fact that Kimberly has left the beach.

"She's gone to prepare for her 'best friend' Alana," he explains nonchalantly. "Why'd you leave?"

I blink at him. "Were you not there for our exchange? You were being such a jerk. We don't know each other well enough for you to treat me that way!"

"I feel like we know each other pretty well, Bulma," he counters, taking a step toward me and dipping a toe into the Atlantic. "We obviously get along."

"You call this getting along?" I say, astonished.

"Yeah, I mean, you're not the worst company in the world," he replies, and for a moment, he's almost being nice—_almost_.

I roll my eyes. "I can't figure you out, man. One minute, you're so nice to me, playing with my hair, talking to me for hours and the next, you're being a dick to me in front of your girlfriend who probably can't calculate two plus two."

"I like pissing you off, is that so bad?"

"Yes! I don't think I've ever met someone who enjoys getting pissed off, have you?"

"Yeah, I have—you."

"I do not like it, Vegeta. Why do you keep doing shit like that? It's so annoying," I growl.

"Like what?" He asks innocently, taking another step toward me. He leans forward and presses his lips against mine, and my mind goes blank.

Oh.

My.

_God_.

And then, he pulls away. And then, I blush furiously because I'm an absolute moron.

"Like that?" He asks smugly, like the conceited dickhead he is.

"It was _disgusting_!" I bellow and walk past him. Thank god we're far enough down the beach that no one saw us...embracing. "And for the record, that's not what I meant!"

"Then what did you mean?" He's gloating right now. It's so obvious. I want to smack him so badly he never forgets it.

"You're so presumptuous about me when you know nothing about me."

"Take a walk with me," he demands.

I shake my head. "No, Vegeta. None of this nice one minute, an asshole the next. Take a walk by yourself," I scold him and return to my new friends.

When I take my seat next to Eighteen, she leans over and whispers in my ear, "You want him, don't you?"

I bite my lip tentatively. "In that _really_ reluctant way, you know?" I mutter back.

"Don't worry. It was like that for me when I first met him. He'll leave you alone eventually."

I can't help the sadness I feel at Eighteen's confession. Is it wrong to want to be special in Vegeta's eyes? What is my problem? He's a horrible, stuck-up jerk. Why do I want to feel special in his eyes?

Goku stands up and dusts the sand off of his swim-shorts. "I'm going to pack and shit. Whose house are we staying at tonight?"

"We're staying over?" I interject.

"Of course," Seventeen says, as though it were obvious all along. "Do you know what time people finish clubbing? Chris is not going to want to drive us back to Sands Point at that hour."

"Oh," I surrender idiotically. "You guys all have houses in New York?"

"Yeah, babe," Eighteen says. "Let's stay at Seventeen's and my crib in TriBeCa. It's close to everything, after all. Bulma, you can stay in my room."

"Cool," I say, smiling at my blonde friend. We haven't hooked up since that day. I'm wondering if we're ever going to. It was thrilling, not something I'd want to pursue as an actual relationship but wouldn't mind indulging in every now and then.

* * *

><p><strong>LAUNCH: I'm going out with Yam and Mar tonight! We will miss you, B :-)<strong>

**BULMA: Yam and Mar? Since when are they friends? Love you! **

**LAUNCH: Oh shit. You don't know? **

**BULMA: What…?**

**LAUNCH: Well, you know Maron. They're dating now...B, I'm sorry—I thought you knew! **

I turn-off my phone quickly before I end up bursting into tears. I know it's wrong. I have no right to Yamcha anymore, and I've pretty much moved on, but why couldn't he just stay in love with me? He's always so flirty on the phone. I guess I kind of assumed he'd always be there for me to fall back on, even though that's terrible.

But this summer is about moving forward. It's about change. I'm in a completely new place, surrounded by people I've barely known for a week. They're vibrant, eccentric people, and I've already fallen for all of them. I have to latch onto the exhilaration I feel when I'm with them, and I have to put Yamcha behind me. I know it's cliché, but I want to enjoy this summer. I want to make it something I'll never forget. I expect I'll never see these guys again once I leave for MIT. I mean, how close can we grow in three month's time? Maybe I'll text Eighteen every few months, but I don't think I want any more "lifelong" friends. I've got enough of those that I've already left behind, and it hurts me everyday. I can't afford to grow attached to four enchanting new people...and maybe Vegeta.

I lean on Eighteen's shoulder, inhaling her fiery scent. I smooth out some wrinkles in my bodycon dress from Topshop. I think I made the right choice. It's definitely not modest, what with the cage cut-outs in the sides, but it's not leopard print or insanely revealing. My petite feet are shielded by Badgley Mischka peep toe pumps. I love them so much; they're electric blue and always catch everyone's eyes.

We're in a fully decked out limo en route to Manhattan. Vegeta is sitting across from me taking long draws of an old fashioned. I can't stand them, too bitter for my taste. I prefer the softer, more whimsical alcohols, like champagne and a really great vintage red. The stereo is blasting Taylor Swift's new album "1989" because Vegeta lost a bet to me. I wagered that when he saw me all dressed up, he would gape at me, and he disagreed.

I won.

"You okay?" Eighteen asks me gently, taking my hand in hers.

"Yamcha is dating my old friend Maron. She's a whore," I explain, frowning slightly as I tell her what's got me down. "I don't have feelings for him anymore, but we dated for so long, you know? It's always painful when someone you loved falls for someone else."

Eighteen nods at me sympathetically. "I know what you mean. I used to go out with this guy named Harry."

"What happened?"

"I found him in bed with my mother," she divulges nonchalantly, but I nearly spill the entire contents of my champagne flute.

"_What the fuck_?!" I screech, earning strange glances from Vegeta, Goku, Krillin, and Seventeen. I wave a hand, and they return to their respective conversations.

"They're still dating," Eighteen proceeds, and I'm beginning to feel nauseas. So, she wasn't exaggerating when she talked about her mother.

"Eighteen, wow. I am so sorry...So your parents are divorced?" I venture, not sure if she will be comfortable with any intrusive questions on my part.

Her mouth twists dimly. "Well, more like they have an agreement. They show up to public events together. To Manhattan, they're madly in love. They're the perfect couple—on the outside. But they cheat on each other constantly behind the scenes. My father's involved in about five affairs right now, and my mother's been with Harry since last year."

I suddenly feel as though my insane family is very normal. "How do you feel about that?"

"Well, Thanksgiving isn't exactly the happiest holiday, if that's what you're asking," she chuckles. "Don't tell Seventeen I told you this, okay? He'll think it's too soon, you know, 'cause we just met you."

"Of course, babe," I assure her, and we fall into an understanding silence.

* * *

><p>Clubs are terrible, Scarpetta is wonderful. I just wrestled myself free from the pounding chaos on the dance floor. I find a secluded corner on the roof of The Standard. My breath hitches in my throat. Manhattan is spectacular. The lights. The noise. The smells. The regality of the city. I never want to leave this glorious sanctuary. Why didn't I apply to Columbia or NYU?<p>

At least ten guys tried to dry hump me on that dance floor. What happened to actually talking to a girl before you tried to jump her? I'm all for casual sex, but I want to, at the very least, know your name before we spend the night together. And they never leave you alone. It's disgusting.

"Hey, baby," I hear from behind me. Oh no, not again.

I turn around to see a fairly tall man walking toward me. "Hello," I reply warily. Maybe if I just indulge him in a brief conversation, he will leave me alone. He's clearly very inebriated.

"You're looking _beautiful_," he compliments me, and I roll my eyes.

"Thanks," I say through gritted teeth. He apparently senses my displeasure.

"What? You don't like me? What's wrong with me?" He asks calmly, but I can sense his anger building, and I know the only thing I can do right now is appease him and then try to get the fuck off this roof.

"Nothing's wrong with you! You're great," I tell him and then begin to move slowly towards the door. "But I've gotta go. Nice talking to you."

He grabs my arm, and I close my eyes in panic. My phone is downstairs in the coat-check. What kind of moron am I? Clearly I have no street smarts. "Let me go," I tell him firmly.

"Why do you want to leave? Am I not good enough for you?"

I feel disgusted using this excuse but know it may be my best bet, "I have a boyfriend. He's waiting for me. Excuse me," I state firmly and pull my arm from his grasp, but he won't let up.

"Baby, he doesn't have to know," the man slurs.

"He will know. I have to go. Let _go _of me," I plead, and I'm starting to get very worried. Why are we the only people on this roof? Why did I _have _to go find a secluded place to brood about Yamcha and modern romance?

"No," he taunts.

"Let me go, or I will scream."

"Go ahead. No one will hear you," he says, and I know he is right. We are a couple of floors above everyone else. But I try anyway. And it falls on deaf ears. "Are you done?" He asks after my third effort. I shake my head and try to pull from him again, but he wraps his arms around my waist and stares longingly into my cerulean voids. I'm afraid to hurt him. I know what happens to girls who try to fight back. I hate backing down, but perhaps the best thing to do is bear whatever he plans on doing to me.

"What's your name?" He asks in hushed tones as though he is protecting this sacred moment. I swallow the bile that is rising.

"Bulma," I stutter, slowly trying to wrestle free of his grip. "What's yours?"

"Derek," he tells me, a smile playing at his lips. He must be pleased that I'm growing interested.

"Derek, you have to let me go. My boyfriend is _waiting _for me," I reiterate, but he shakes his head and tightens his grasp.

"Why don't you like me?" He asks, practically sobbing. He is repulsive, thinking he's entitled to me or something. Doesn't he _know _who I am?

I try to push back against his chest in the gentlest manner possible. "It's not that. I love my boyfriend." Who doesn't exist, I finish to myself.

This seems to ignite a rage inside of Derek. He pushes me forcefully against the balcony railing, and the tears come pouring out. I struggle, I push, I scratch whatever I can get my hands on, but he's too strong for me.

Beyond the depths of my delirium, I hear rushed footsteps and feel Derek being lifted off of me. I fall to the ground, resting my face in my hands, brushing away my sorrow and fear. I hear muddled shouting but can't seem to focus on the source of the sound. I must be in shock. I try to get in contact with myself. Bulma, get yourself together. Bulma, everything is fine. Bulma, someone has saved you; you need to thank them.

Slowly, I open my eyes, and the first thing I see is an unconscious Derek on the ground before me. I shudder at the sight of him but make no further noise. And then, I look up hesitantly, my eyes searching for my savior.

Goku is standing there with a hand outstretched. "Are you okay?" He asks softly as I tentatively take his hand.

Bulma, get a grip. Bulma, he saved you. Bulma, you're a strong woman, and you shouldn't be falling apart right now—nothing happened. Something could have happened, but it didn't. Bulma, you're fine.

I blink a few times to diminish the haze that has overcome my conscious and smile weakly at Goku. "I'm okay, sorry about that."

We stand there in silence for a few moments. "Thank you," I say, realizing I haven't acknowledged his noble effort.

"Bulma, what makes you think you can go off by yourself? If Vegeta hadn't mentioned to me that you'd gone missing, this could've played out very differently," he scolds me. His voice has a dark quality, which I never thought Goku could achieve.

"So, you're not mad at the guy who just tried to violate me, but you're blaming me for thinking I could get some fresh air without being manhandled. Cool." I turn away from him and fold my arms across my chest defensively.

"I agree that you shouldn't _have _to feel unsafe, but whether you like it or not, you are. You're a beautiful girl, and this is not the place to be meandering aimlessly when no one knows where you went."

I grumble, not really having anything to say because I know he is right.

He smiles at me and silently rubs my shoulders.

"Thank you," I tell him again, with a fresh meaning coating my words.

He slips off his dress jacket and lays it along my shoulders. Even though the night is warm and welcoming, the jacket acts as a security blanket, and I feel safe. We lean against the railing and wordlessly stare off into Manhattan's endless abyss.

* * *

><p>AN: Chapter 3...Please review! I need about 8 reviews to continue the story.

xx Aisha

P.S. Let me know if you don't like anything about the story.


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